


Midnight Sun

by stardropdream



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: CLAMPkink, Dubious Consent, Incest, M/M, Sexual Content, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wanted to see what kinds of reactions his brother would make, what kinds of cute noises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to the CLAMP kink meme and then reposted to LJ September 15, 2010.
> 
> The original prompt was for Sei/Fuuma as kids. Alternately, this fic could be entitled: "Seishirou is the World's Worst Brother."

At night, when the nightmares come, Fuuma sometimes crawls into his brother’s bed. His brother never responds, but also never pushes him out, and that is enough for Fuuma to believe that Seishirou at the very least doesn’t care if he’s there. So, he spends many nights in his brother’s bed, sometimes pressing against Seishirou’s side for some kind of warmth. Ever since the death of their mother, Fuuma had been oddly quiet, complacent—but needy, as Seishirou sees it. He is young and does not understand what it means to press up against another body, to drape his arms over his chest, resting his ear against where Seishirou’s heartbeat thumps loud and clear. The child does not understand what it means to wrap legs together, to press up against another body, warm breath passing over his neck as he sleeps. It doesn’t bother Seishirou, and he doesn’t care either way, and he knows that Fuuma does not know the point of his actions.   
  
But one night, he is ready for Fuuma when Fuuma slips under the covers, quietly, hesitantly, as if this would be the night that Seishirou would push Fuuma away and leave the child to cry alone in his room. He has grown, in that phase of awkward almost-teenaged stringiness, his limbs elongating but his tendons still tight from childhood, the boneless flexibility of child’s limbs stiffening up with his growth. He presses up against Seishirou, smiling a bit apologetically at Seishirou as he rests his cheek against Seishirou’s chest. Seishirou smiles in return, and lifts a hand to pet the back of Fuuma’s head, fingers pressing through his hair. Fuuma lets out a small mewl of pleasure at the touch, so unfamiliar and so desired, and sinks against his brother, slinging one leg over Seishirou’s, tangling them together.   
  
“Nii-san,” Fuuma breathes, breath wafting over Seishirou’s neck. Seishirou continues to smile, saying nothing as he strokes the back of Fuuma’s head, drifting down to scrape the blunt of his nails against Fuuma’s back. Fuuma shivers against him, snuggling closer, face rippling with happiness at the attentions. It was amusing, really, to know that his touch could influence his little brother so much, to make him that happy when it did nothing for Seishirou, other than perhaps a quiet curiosity to see what other kinds of faces his brother would make, should he touch him more.   
  
It was like an interesting toy. He stroked the hair from Fuuma’s forehead and Fuuma closed his eyes, still smiling. Seishirou brushed his fingers over his cheeks, over the shell of his ear, traced along his jaw. Pressed against his chest as he was, Seishirou felt the spike in Fuuma’s heart rate, noticed the way his brother squirmed closer.   
  
“Nii-san,” Fuuma says again, drawing back slightly when Seishirou presses his fingers over Fuuma’s parted lips. He blinks at his older brother, face slightly flushed.  
  
Seishirou smiles. “Hm?”  
  
He wraps his arm around Fuuma’s waist, tugging the child up onto him, so that they are pressed flushed together. Fuuma’s heart is still beating, and his face is still red. He parts his lips and Seishirou pushes his thumb into his mouth, thumbing along the flats of his teeth and prying his mouth open slightly, just to see if he can. Fuuma does not resist him, and his eyes flicker slightly, staring at his brother before they sink to half-mast.   
  
“What…?” his brother begins but Seishirou doesn’t let him speak because he tilts his hips up so they are pressed up against Fuuma’s and Fuuma’s mouth parts again in a silent, open-mouthed expression of shock.   
  
“Interesting,” Seishirou says, watching Fuuma swallow around the thumb in his mouth. He presses his fingers into Fuuma’s mouth, pressing against his tongue and stroking. Fuuma’s small hands come up to grasp Seishirou’s wrists, as if to go and pull them out, but he does not. He just touches his brother, and Seishirou touches him.   
  
He lifts his other hand, pushing the hair away from Fuuma’s face. Fuuma watches him, unsure, but not wanting to push his brother away, not wanting to lose the soft caress of his touch, the burning sense of being wanted, no matter how much it is built on a fallacy.   
  
“Nii-san,” he mouths against Seishirou’s fingers and thumb, tongue brushing over the digits, eyes wide and unsure.   
  
Seishirou continues to smile, fingers stroking his jaw and down his neck. “Do you like this, little brother?”   
  
Fuuma doesn’t answer, but Seishirou takes the fingers from his mouth, strokes the wet digits over Fuuma’s parted lips before drifting over the dip of his chin, the underside of his chin, and down the lines of his throat, the beginnings of an adam’s apple. He smiles, amused by his brother’s reactions.   
  
“I…” Fuuma begins, swallowing again, thickly, around the lump in his throat pressing stubbornly against the words he wishes to say. He stares at his brother, face flushed, before he gives a small little nod.  
  
“Do you want me to keep going?” Seishirou asks, amused further.   
  
Fuuma looks uncomfortable, unsure, but thrilled. He nods. He does not want his brother to go away, does not want his brother to push him away. He wants to stay, where it is warm, where he is wanted, if only for amusement.   
  
Seishirou keeps smiling even as he slants his mouth against Fuuma’s and tastes him, biting at Fuuma’s bottom lip and delighting in the small gasp of amazement his little brother lets forth, mouth parting. He bites, harshly, feels Fuuma squirm, pleasure or pain he cannot know nor does he care to know—he bites and licks and sucks Fuuma’s mouth into his own, sweeps his tongue over the rows of teeth and pressing against a docile tongue. Fuuma cries out against his mouth and when Seishirou pulls away, he admires his work—his brother, eyes wide, slightly fearful, face flushed with pleasure, lips parted and swollen and red from kisses. The best of all, Seishirou observes, as he pulls away to admire his new toy, is that Fuuma is hard against him, or at least well on his way to being so.  
  
He cups his brother experimentally through the clothes of his pajamas, and smiles when Fuuma gasps, rubbing a bit wantonly against Seishirou’s stationary hand. Seishirou cups him, strokes his palm against the fabric covering his brother’s cock.   
  
“Wait,” Fuuma says, looking unsure, as Seishirou unbuttons Fuuma’s shirt, fingers scraping across the quivering, pale skin. He curls his fingers around the waistband of Fuuma’s pants and pulls them down, leaving his little brother naked.  
  
“Wait?” Seishirou repeats. “But don’t you want me to keep going?”  
  
He smiles at his brother and his brother fidgets, staring down at his naked form, straddling Seishirou’s lap. He bites his lip, still swollen and abused. Seishirou leans in to remind his brother what it is he wants, kissing him. Fuuma keeps his mouth open and like before does not resist Seishirou’s invasion, letting his older brother do as he wishes, for his entertainment. His hands shiver, press against Seishirou’s chest but do not push—just rest. Seishirou knows he has won, knows that he had won from the beginning. It was amusing, really, to see how desperately his brother longed for touch.  
  
“Nii-san…” Fuuma whimpers when Seishirou pulls his mouth away, and does not mouth along his jaw or neck, though he thinks of doing so. Instead, he passes his fingers over his body, watching Fuuma arch and shiver, unsure what to do with this new body of his, awakening touches and feelings Seishirou knows Fuuma never realized existed.   
  
He drags his fingers over the length of Fuuma’s cock, listens as Fuuma sucks in a rattling breath and releases the tiniest of cries, arching against his brother’s touch, thrusting without rhythm. Seishirou keeps smiling, amused, as he strokes his brother, watches him writhe and cry out for him, eyes hooded, lips parted, chest heaving with his pants. He watches as his brother’s brow lines with sweat, and his smile widens slightly, and he even laughs a little, thumb circling the head of Fuuma’s cock until the boy is gripping his shoulders, curling into himself and crying out for his brother in something that is almost a sob.   
  
He pauses, however, when Fuuma’s hands leave his shoulder and instead press into his own lap, small palms pressing against the bulge in his pants he hadn’t realized was there. Well, that was a reaction, at least. His brother bites his lip, curling slightly and writhing as Seishirou continues the ministration, but his brother cannot last long, he is too young, too inexperienced. And he cries out, arching, head tilting back as he cries out, low, and cum slides over Seishirou’s knuckles and onto Fuuma’s chest.   
  
Seishirou watches his brother arch and then slump forward, as if boneless. He watches with quiet amusement the way the cum on his chest and stomach slides down slightly. He lifts his hand away from Fuuma and regards his dirtied hand with a calm, indifferent expression. The little hands on his own cock are still pressed against him but are not moving. He’ll have to do something about that, if he wants to sleep comfortably. It’s one thing to watch the amusing reactions of his brother and listen to the silly sounds he makes, and Seishirou is curious to see how much Fuuma would react if he was to press into his little brother and fuck him.  
  
So, with that amusing image in mind, he presses his knuckles against Fuuma’s lips and Fuuma looks at him. Seishirou doesn’t have to say anything, but simply smiles at Fuuma, and Fuuma cradles his brothers hand and licks his own cum from Seishirou’s knuckles, tongue darting out as if hesitant.   
  
“Good boy,” Seishirou says, with no real affection, but his brother swells with pride with the praise.  
  
When his hand is relatively clean, Seishirou strokes it through Fuuma’s hair.   
  
“Do you want me to do the same to you, nii-san?” Fuuma asks, in a quiet voice, body shaking—on edge, wanting to please his brother but also afraid.   
  
Seishirou chuckles, without any real mirth, and tilts his brother’s chin back so he can kiss Fuuma again, tongue in his mouth and pulling back only to bite down hard on Fuuma’s lips, hard enough that the lip almost spills and he almost tastes blood. Instead, he just leaves his bruising kisses and only pulls back when Fuuma whimpers.   
  
“I have a better idea,” Seishirou says with a benign smile, hand stroking over his brother’s chest, collecting the sperm left from before. He drags his nails over Fuuma’s chest for good effort as well, and the angry red marks that he leaves behind cause Fuuma to cry out in pain, tilting his head back.   
  
Seishirou smiles, hand coated in cum again before shifting, lifting Fuuma up onto his knees over Seishirou’s lap. Fuuma lifts his hands, touching his brother’s shoulders again, staring at him in confusion. Seishirou offers no explanation, simply lets his hand drift between his brother’s legs and press one finger into him. Fuuma tenses up instantly, eyes wide, mouth opening.  
  
“A-ah, ow—ow, nii-san,” Fuuma whines, squirming. “What are—?”  
  
“Stop moving,” Seishirou says, cheerfully enough, and Fuuma freezes, eyes wide and stricken. Seishirou’s smile hardens slightly as he presses his finger further into Fuuma, stretching him only slightly before pressing in the second finger, using the cum to coat the way. He shifts Fuuma, positioning him over him, before pulling down his own pants, freeing his cock. He presses Fuuma down onto him, pulling his fingers away. Fuuma is not properly stretched, but he strokes the rest of the cum over his cock, and it’ll be enough for him, at least. He’s interested in seeing how Fuuma’s body will react to the intrusion, what kind of noises he’ll make when he is filled. Fuuma bites his lip, suppressing a small whimper, as Seishirou’s cock head presses inside Fuuma.   
  
“N-nii—nii-sn,” Fuuma gasps, as Seishirou uses his hands to grasp Fuuma’s hips and force the boy further onto his cock, not stopping until he is fully seated inside Fuuma and Fuuma’s eyes are wide with unshed tears from the pain. Seishirou is patient, stroking his brother’s hair in a fallacy of affection, smiling at him.  
  
“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Seishirou asks, but is not really interested in the answer. He rocks his hips upward and his smile returns when Fuuma gasps, eyes widening from the friction, unused to the touch and, at this point, not sure if he likes his brother touching him anymore. Seishirou thrusts, harder this time, just to see how Fuuma will react.  
  
Fuuma cries out, a small, guttural cry, but the way his hips snap back to meet Seishirou suggests a bit more wantonness to his actions.   
  
“Hm,” Seishirou says. Amusing.   
  
He rolls his hips and uses his grip on Fuuma’s hips to shove the boy up and down on his cock, rocking up into Fuuma, slamming home. Fuuma writhes, tilts his head back and cries out, biting his lip. A few tears slip down his cheeks but Seishirou only watches them, makes no move to wipe them away. Fuuma’s grip on Seishirou’s shoulders is tight, nails digging little half-moon marks into his skin.   
  
He moves Fuuma up and down effortlessly, shoving and using more force than is necessary, but his brother is tight—but really, it’s the sounds he’s making. Fuuma cries out, whimpers, and moans. His body rocks in time with Seishirou’s thrusts. Seishirou watches Fuuma’s face as he shoves into him, watches his reactions and wondering if he can do anything else, because he can see something like this getting boring too fast, and Seishirou hates very much to be bored.  
  
But eventually he reaches his climax, filling his little brother. He does not moan, does not even close his eyes. He quirks his brow, rather, and watches his brother tense up, eyes flying wide open and staring at his brother with open-mouthed shock. Seishirou smiles.   
  
He slips out of his brother, and pulls his pants back up. Fuuma bites his lip, staring at his brother still. Seishirou pushes Fuuma away, lets the boy fall down to his stomach. Fuuma presses his face into a pillow and does not move, does not reach for his clothing or even to fall back under the covers again. He just lies there, and Seishirou, amused, brushes his fingers along the bumps of Fuuma’s spine.   
  
Fuuma lifts his head, staring at his brother with an unreadable expression. Despite the pain and despite the insecurity of what had just happened, Fuuma still wants to be touched. Seishirou just smiles at him.   
  
“Aren’t you cute?” Seishirou asks, rhetorically. His hand stays on Fuuma’s back a moment before lifting and ruffling Fuuma’s hair.  
  
Fuuma frowns, thoughtfully, thinking over his brother’s words. And then he offers a small smile to his brother.   
  
“T-thanks.”


End file.
